


The Librarian

by sheepishwolfy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-24 03:28:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4903867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheepishwolfy/pseuds/sheepishwolfy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New Haven High School: Home of the Seekers and Anais Lavellan's first (albeit temporary) teaching job. It's going to be difficult being the only Dalish on the faculty, but maybe the school's handsome, if old-fashioned, elven librarian will make it a little easier. </p><p>An entirely self-indulgent modern Solavellan AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“ _Fenedhis!_ ”

The door had opened suddenly inwards, catching him directly on the chin and throwing the cardboard cup from his grip. Solas stumbled backwards, pressing a hand to his mouth to check for blood. Satisfied that there was no lasting damage, he turned his attention to tepid coffee splashed all over the tile and his pantlegs.

She who had opened the door-- another elf-- stood staring in horror, her hands clamped over her mouth. Dark green tattoos surrounded her eyes and dipped down the bridge of her nose. _Dalish_ , he wondered briefly, _or another one of the young ones who think the vallaslin “look cool”?_

“ _Ir abelas, lethallin_!” she said suddenly, and began to dig in her purse. Definitely Dalish then, it was nigh unheard-of for a city-born elf to lapse so quickly into the old tongue. She produced a handful of napkins from the depths of her handbag and knelt to begin sopping up the spilled beverage.

He stooped to aid her, intrigued by the Dalish girl exploding through the doors of the school. She was still hastily apologizing.

“ _Banal abelas_ ,” he said, collecting the bent cardboard cup and stuffing the lid inside. Her head snapped up at the use of her language.

“ _Dirthan elvhen_?” she asked, eyes lighting up and a smile starting across her face.

“ _Dirthan_ ,” he confirmed.

A grin split her face, and she began chattering eagerly in Elvhen. From her rushed, delighted words Solas gathered she had only recently arrived in New Haven, had already gotten hopelessly lost three times that day, would likely never cease apologizing for smashing his face with a door, and had yet to unpack her apartment fully. While she spoke he took the opportunity to look her over, attempting to figure who she was.

Warm copper skin, bright green eyes that tilted up at the corners. Small gold rings lined her ears, larger holes stretched into her lobes, and a tiny stud with a green stone set in it nestled in her nostril. She wore ragged shorts that bordered on the edge of decency, an oversized grey cardigan over a black shirt, scuffed black boots only partly laced. Two delicate necklaces hung around her neck, one long and with a silver bird skull at the end, the other shorter with a simple clear stone.

“Oh... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to talk your ear off,” she finished, her smile turning sheepish as she stood, coffee-soaked napkins in one hand. “It's just... It's been a while, since I met someone who knew the language.”

“Don't apologize for that,” Solas replied. He held out the empty cup, and she pushed the napkins into it. A handful of rings of assorted sizes decorated her fingers. Lots of jewelry, he noted. “Just be more careful opening doors.”

“Of course, I'm sorry again,” she said, tucking a lock of dark auburn hair behind her ear. “Is your chin okay?”

“I'll live,” he assured her. Too old to be a student, he thought, but-- probably-- too young to be a parent.

“Shit,” she hissed suddenly, and pulled a cellphone out of her pocket. “I'm late!”

She darted around him with another hasty apology, and hurried down the hall. Solas half turned to watch her, curious as to what a Dalish elf would be late for in a high school at three o'clock on Friday afternoon. Whatever it was, he could find out on Monday morning. For now, it was the weekend, and at home there was a nap with his name on it.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 In retrospect, perhaps heels weren't the best choice for her first day. Anais Lavellan, who went barefoot whenever possible, was only twenty minutes into her work day when she began to deeply regret her footwear. The black pumps, not even that tall, pinched her toes and gouged the backs of her heels. Hopefully, once she made a good, professional impression on her coworkers and her students, she could loosen up a bit.

It probably didn't help things that the vice principal-- Rutherford? He had at least three names and all of them sounded like shem surnames to her-- was about fifteen feet tall and took very large steps. Anais hurried to keep up, nodding along as he-- Stanton? Stan _ley_?-- gave her what could best be described as a “debriefing” about New Haven High School.

“Library is down that hallway,” he said, gesturing down the corridor to their left. “We have mandatory faculty meetings there every Wednesday at three-thirty. Leliana gave you the lesson plans Justinia left behind?”

He certainly wasted no time on subject changes. “Yes,” Anais replied. “Through the end of the semester, at least.”

“Good. Your first period is freshman world history, if I'm not mistaken. Easy enough for you, I'm sure, with your background,” he continued. “Second period should be free, then morning break, third period-- did Leliana also explain the bell schedule?”

“She did, thank you,” she said. “When I came to finish my paperwork on Friday.”

On Friday, when she slammed a door into the face of some poor unsuspecting man. Ideally he didn't work here, and she never had to see him again. Even if he did speak flawless Elvhen. She quickly put the thought out of her mind as they turned a corner.

The vice principal gestured to a door coming up on the right. “This is the teacher's lounge. You can eat your lunch there or in your classroom, whichever you prefer.”

 _Probably the classroom_ , she thought, then chided herself. _At least give it a chance, maybe they'll be friendly here._

“There's a refrigerator if you want to store anything, a cabinet full of office supplies, all the usual stuff. Any questions?” He turned to face her as they came to a stop in front of the lounge.

“I think I've got it under control,” she said, only mildly lying.

“Great!” The vice principal's-- Cullen! _That_ was his name-- formerly stern face broke into a surprisingly kind smile. He really was quite good looking, for a human. Tall and broad and blonde, obviously well-muscled under his dress shirt. Not a few of the students blushed and averted their eyes as they jostled past.

“If you think of any, or if you need anything at all, please don't hesitate to call me. You can get me by my office extension or, if I'm not there, just use the walkie.” He gestured to the radio on his belt. “Oh! Speaking of which...”

He produced a second walkie-talkie. “You don't have to carry it everywhere if you don't want. But Principal Pentaghast insists everyone have one, in case of emergencies.”

“Thank you,” she said, nodding as she took the offered device.

Cullen jerked his thumb at the lounge door. “There's probably a handful of staff in there right now, if you would like to get it out of the way and meet some of them.

Anais blew out a breath. May as well get it out of the way now. “Let's do it.”

 

 

The teacher's lounge was the usual bustle of early morning activity, people depositing lunches in the various refrigerators and clustering around the coffeemaker. Solas sat to one side, bagel in one hand and newspaper in the other.

“I hear that new history teacher is starting today.” Dorian seated himself across from Solas.

“Is that so?” the elf asked, not looking up from his paper.

“She's only temporary. A graduate student,” Dorian said. “Or that's what Josephine tells me.”

“Miss Montilyet would know,” Solas replied, laying the paper on the table. Clearly this was not a morning for reading. “She _does_ run the front office.”

“Don't let Leliana hear you say that,” laughed Dorian.

“I don't suppose Josephine told you anything else?” Vivienne inquired from her own seat nearby.

“Well, Josephine didn't _tell_ me so much as I overheard her talking to Cullen while I was checking my mail,” Dorian admitted. “Hopefully she's--”

Everyone turned to the lounge door as it swung open, allowing the cacophony of students' hallway chatter to roll across the room. Vice Principal Rutherford stood in the doorway, hand still on the handle. Behind him stood a small form, hidden by his considerable size.

“Good morning, everyone,” he said. “I'd like to introduce you to Justinia's replacement, Ms. Anais Lavellan.”

Solas' eyebrows lifted in surprise at the woman Cullen ushered in. She was smartly dressed now, in a wine-colored button down shirt and dark gray slacks, her hair pulled back in a neat chignon. The tattoos gave her away instantly, however. The new history teacher was none other than the Dalish door-opener.

“She'll be with us through the end of the semester at least, but depending on Justinia's health may be with us for the remainder of the school year,” Cullen explained.

A a dull chorus of hellos went up from the gathered faculty, and Anais smiled and lifted a hand in greeting. Cullen began to gesture around the room, introducing everyone.

“This is Gordon Blackwall, he teaches geography. Vivienne de Fer, in the back, she's the head of our foreign language department and teaches Orlesian. Dorian Pavus, mathematics and Old Tevine. Iron Bull and Cremisius Aclassi, health and physical education. And in the corner, there, our librarian, Solas...” Cullen paused, snapping his fingers. “...Whose last name I don't actually know.”

Anais' eyes widened a little, her smile momentarily faltering, when she saw Solas. She recovered quickly enough though, offering a cheerful, “Nice to meet you all.”

Introductions complete, Cullen lowered his voice. “I have to get back to my office, but I'll find you again after school and see how your first day went. Alright?”

“Yes, of course, thank you again,” she said, nodding to him. The vice principal clapped her once on the shoulder, and waded back out into the sea of teenagers in the hallway.

Anais hesitated a moment in the doorway, until the attention shifted from her back to the conversations at hand. She visibly relaxed, and caught Solas' eye, starting towards him.

She was quickly interrupted by Vivienne, who swept across the room in a cloud of confidence and fine perfume. “Come, darling,” she said, placing a graceful hand on the elf's shoulder and leading her into the hall. “Your classroom is just across the hall from mine, we simply _must_ get to know one another.”

 _A Dalish history teacher_ , Solas mused. The school year was certainly off to an interesting start.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a couple of quick first chapters just to get things rolling. the next few should have a little more substance!


	3. Chapter 3

“Salad, again?”

Anais' eyes flicked up, her fork hovering over a field of spinach and baby greens, to find Dorian giving her lunch a troubled look.

“I _like_ salad,” she said. She speared a leaf, and added quickly, “And maybe I haven't had a chance to go grocery shopping yet.”

“Please don't tell me that's a gas station salad,” he said, physically recoiling.

“Okay, I won't,” she shrugged. “But I have been busy unpacking and getting things in order for classes every day, so I will tell you this is _definitely_ not home-made.”

Dorian made a disgusted noise, unwrapping his own lunch. It appeared to be some manner of leftover takeout. Not exactly elegant either, Anais noted with amusement.

“And where's Vivienne today?” he asked.

“She said she had an errand to run,” Anais replied, setting back into her meal. “She might be in before the bell, might not.”

In her few short days at the school, Anais was glad to have so quickly found friends. Most of the staff was professional, even cordial, but it was difficult to navigate the already-established cliques in a workplace-- a town--that rarely saw newcomers. Vivienne and Dorian shared a lunch period and a hallway with her, though, and had proven friendly enough. They insisted she join them daily, rather than hermiting alone in her classroom. Being non-native Fereldans themselves, the three had a certain amount of easy common ground. Perhaps, now that they were a bit more comfortable, she could finally ask the question that had been burning in her since she was hired.

“So what, ah...” she paused, suddenly hesitant, causing Dorian to frown at her over his immaculate mustache.

“Yes?”

Leaning forward, she lowered her voice, not necessarily wanting others in the room to overhear. “What happened to the woman I replaced?” she asked. “I don't mean to pry, I'm just... curious.”

“Heart attack, poor thing,” Dorian replied. He shook his head. “First day of school, bang, right on the floor of her classroom.”

Anais clapped a hand over her mouth. “In front of the _students_?” she squeaked through her fingers.

“Heavens no, nothing so dramatic as that,” Dorian assured her. “After school, Cassandra and Cullen were there.”

“That's horrible,” Anais said. Her stomach tightened uncomfortably, and she set her fork down.

“She lived,” Dorian continued, not slowing his own eating. “Cullen thinks she'll be back at the end of the semester, but I have it on good authority from Leliana that the old bird's planning to retire.”

“Leliana...” she murmured, attempting to put a face with the name.

“Redhead, handles all the personnel paperwork. Orlesian,” he said.

“Right, yes. Well, maybe I'll get a whole year's worth of--”

The words halted on her tongue as the door swung open, admitting Vivienne and Solas. Anais watched them enter, debating whether she should just slide under the table or pretend she hadn't noticed them enter.

“Your ability to procure books is uncanny, Solas,” Vivienne was saying. “I appreciate it, though my students may not. Thank you.”

“Of course, Mme. de Fer,” the elf replied lightly. “It's no trouble at all.”

Anais quickly turned back to her lunch, picking through her salad in what she hoped was an appropriately casual manner. “Anyway, as I was saying, maybe I'll be around for the entire year,” she said.

Dorian squinted at her, suspicious. “Yes, maybe.”

Vivienne slid gracefully into the chair next to Dorian, setting a large, well-preserved old book on the table before her. Slightly faded, golden lettering on the spine read _Aveline, Chevalier d'Orlais._

“That man is a wizard,” she said, tapping the book's cover with one long, elegant finger. “I've been hunting for a proper translation of this for months for my senior students. I mentioned it to Solas at the last faculty meeting, and he turns it up in a week. In High Orlesian, no less, _with_ Maigny's original illustrations.”

“Impressive,” Anais said. Her eyes flicked back to the librarian in question, who was retrieving something from the refrigerator. She had to admit, the man was rather handsome in his beige sweater. Tall for an elf, bald, with a long narrow face and a straight nose, full lips and a cleft chin. He was also of entirely inscrutable age.

He straightened, and caught her gaze before she had a chance to look away. She could feel the tips of her ears turn red as Solas nodded at her, then turned to leave. She offered him a tight smile in return, and no sooner did the door swing closed behind him than she closed her eyes and cursed herself for staring.

“What was _that_?” Dorian demanded immediately.

“What? Nothing!” Anais protested, too quickly.

“That was something, my dear, and it was very... odd,” Vivienne said.

Anais groaned and scrubbed a hand down her face. “Look, okay, fine, you know the librarian? Solas?”

“Yes, I believe we've heard of him,” Dorian replied flatly.

“I... smashed his face in. With a door,” she explained. “On accident! And then I word vomited all over him, in Elvhen, and I was dressed like a complete hobo because I was at the hardware store when the office called and asked me to come in to do some final paperwork...”

“You hit him with a _door_?” Rocking back in his chair, Dorian was entirely unable to contain his mirth. “Do you know what I would have paid to see that?”

“Oh leave the poor thing alone, Dorian,” Vivienne chided.

“And then I just ran away down the hall,” Anais concluded. She groaned again, and buried her face in her hands. “He probably thinks I'm a crazy person.”

“Most likely, yes,” agreed Vivienne. “The staring won't do you any favors, either.”

Lifting her head from her palms, Anais put on an exaggerated pout.“What happened to 'leave the poor thing alone'?”

“I'm not going to tease you, darling, but I'm certainly not going to lie to you,” the other woman said plainly.

Blessedly, at that moment, the bell rang.

 

* * *

 

If there was one thing this school needed, it was signs at every corner. Anais was hopelessly lost in the winding corridors, with only the changing numbers on the lockers and classroom doors as proof that she was actually going anywhere. What she should have done was take Vivienne up on the offer to walk together to the faculty meeting, rather than take the extra few minutes to get her things in order for the next day.

Finally she came across a janitor, a cheerful dwarf woman, who gave Anais concise directions to the library. Of course it was two hallways back the way she had come, but at least now she was only ten minutes late. Hopefully she could just sneak in the back, and none would be the wiser.

Carefully she pushed the door open, just enough to sidle through, and gently closed it again. When she turned to survey the room, she was quickly halted by the sheer size of the library. It rose all three stories of the building, open in the center of each floor, a huge skylight set in the roof above. Bathed in sunlight, in the center of the room, was a large round desk of pale wood, currently unoccupied but likely the librarian's.

To the left of the room was a staircase leading up to the next level, surrounded by massive floor-to-ceiling shelves packed end to end with books. Through the railings around the second floor, Anais could see similar shelves lining the walls. She assumed the top floor was much the same. To the right was a collection of desks and tables, currently occupied by every teacher on campus. A projector set in the ceiling was aimed at a screen on the far wall, displaying a point-and-line chart.

The principal, Cassandra Pentaghast, stood next to the chart, explaining whatever it meant. She was a severe looking woman, sturdy, dark of hair and eye. Those sharp eyes noted Anais' late entrance immediately, but Cassandra said nothing.

Anais approached the meeting, scanning for open seats near friendly faces. She spotted Dorian when he turned in his chair, but he only shrugged and mouthed a _sorry_ , gesturing at the occupied seats surrounding him. Probably just as well, she told herself, no need to make a big spectacle pushing through the crowd. Besides, the table at the back was entirely unoccupied but for...

Solas. Because of course it was.

Nothing to help it now, she figured, and slipped into the chair next to the librarian. He glanced at her as she dug a notepad and a pen from her purse.

“ _Savhalla, lethallin_ ,” she said softly, habitually dropping into Elvhen.

“ _On'dhea him_ ,” he replied easily. His accent had a pleasant lilt to it, one that she couldn't quite place.

At the head of the room, Cassandra was wrapping up a discussion about test scores. The projector image changed from the graph to a collection of dates, and Cullen replaced Cassandra. He launched into a speech about the upcoming year's sports schedule; the football team had already won their first game under the Iron Bull's coaching, and the vice-principal himself was overseeing basketball try-outs at the end of the next month.

Despite her best efforts to be attentive, Anais quickly found her attention slipping. Unless the school considered rambling about wolf iconography in ancient Arlathan a sport, she had little to offer on the subject. Her eyes darted briefly back to Solas, who seemed to be dutifully taking notes.

Apparently he had about as much interest in the topic as she did, for on second glance he wasn't being studious all. The man was doodling on the back of a handout. Anais smirked to herself, and flipped through her notebook to find her class schedule for the next day. If nothing else, she could at least get her lessons in order.

An interminable amount of time later, the meeting finally came to an end. As she gathered her things, Anais found herself glancing back at the librarian's handiwork. To her surprise, the paper before him wasn't covered in the usual boredom-driven scratchings. In impeccable detail was drawn a hooded figure, arms outstretched, bearing a curved horn in one delicate hand and a long wand in the other.

“Silentir,” she murmured.

His hand stilled on the page, and Anais realized she had spoken aloud. She immediately flushed pink, expecting a look of annoyance, but instead the gaze he turned on her seemed... intrigued.

“You know it?” he asked.

“It's a representation of Dumat,” she replied, and could feel her inner semiotics nerd roaring to life. “The Silent One, from the Tevinter pantheon. It more than likely originated from an image of Mythal, appropriated after the fall of Arlathan when the Empire was assimilating the elves. You see that kind of thing all over Tevene ruins, Elvhen imagery taken and turned into... Sorry, I'm rambling.”

“No, no, don't apologize,” he said hastily. A slow smile had spread across his face while she chattered. “It's rare to meet another well-versed in their Tevinter constellations.”

“My masters thesis was on the influence of ancient Elvhen iconography on subsequent religions,” she explained. At that, his eyebrows shot up. “Specifically the betrayal and eventual sacrifice of Mythal-like figures.”

“That sounds fascinating,” he said.

“Yeah, well, pissed off pretty much everyone at the university when I basically accused the Chantry of taking a Dalish god and turning her into the blessed Andraste,” Anais chuckled. “But my research was sound, and my advisor was an atheist. Also, thankfully, none of them had any clue I was mildly biased.”

“Of course, your vallaslin. The tree of Mythal.”

It was Anais' turn to be surprised. “You know your blood writing.”

“I read a lot,” he shrugged, a waved a hand at the books towering around them.

“As would befit a librarian,” she said, smiling.

“There are days I don't have much else to do,” he said. “High school librarian is a dying profession, I'm afraid. Most students these days tend to forgo books and instead choose to simply _Google it_.”

Never in her life, even in all her long years of academia, had Anais ever heard someone refer to a search engine with such palpable disdain. “I'm sorry to tell you, hahren, the internet is here to stay.”

“Hahren?” he asked, sitting back in his chair. “How old do you suppose I am?”

“Old enough to have a healthy fear of technology.”

“It is not a _fear_ ,” he said, his words clipped. “I simply believe that there is more to be gained by reading a book than simply snatching the single easiest answer directly from the void.”

“Of course, hahren,” she needled, grinning. He rolled his eyes. “Well, perhaps I will do you a favor and bring my students to the library sometime. Force them to read a book.”

He huffed a short laugh. “ _Ma serranas_.”

The library had grown quiet around them, the rest of the faculty having filtered out. Anais felt suddenly awkward, alone with Solas in the cavernous library.

“I, ah... should probably be going,” she said, standing and slinging her purse over her shoulder. “It was nice talking to you.”

“And you as well,” he said, sliding gracefully to his feet. He looked down at the sketch in his hand, contemplating, and then offered it to her. “For you, disciple of Mythal.”

“Oh,” she said, and then hurriedly added, “Thank you.” Carefully she tucked the paper into her notebook. “ _Dar'eth shiral_.”

“ _Sal sura_ ,” he replied, smiling.

She turned and started for the exit, quickly, not wanting him to see the _third_ furious blush he'd generated for her that day alone.

 _Sal sura_ , she repeated to herself. _Visit me again_.

 


	4. Chapter 4

The sudden ringing of the phone echoed harshly through the shelves, startling Solas enough that he nearly fell off his step-ladder. Grumbling a curse he set aside the books he was shelving and walked briskly towards his desk. Leaning across it, Solas turned the phone to check the caller ID. An internal extension, but not one he recognized offhand. He snatched up the handset and held it to his ear.

“Library,” he said by way of greeting.

“Solas? Hi,” came the other voice, tinny through the tiny speaker.

“Hello,” he replied, brow furrowing as he attempted to place the voice, then added, “Anais.”

“Yes, hi, I have a favor to ask,” she said, hardly pausing for a response. “I've got a ton of quizzes to grade, and an AP world history class next period that needs to work on term papers. Would I be able to bring my students down to the library? They can do research, I can get my work done, and you save twenty young minds from the horrors of the internet.”

Solas couldn't help but chuckle at the jibe. “Of course. I don't have any other classes scheduled before lunch. Your students will have the place to themselves.”

“Perfect. Thank you, lethallin,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

He mirrored her unseen expression. “ _Banal nadas_.”

Half an hour later, just after the bell, the library's double doors banged open to admit a cloud of teenagers. They milled around the entrance, mostly human but a handful of elves and dwarves. Their talk blended into a dull hum that rolled through the rotunda. Anais was the last one in, her voice rising above the students' as she shut the door behind her.

“Come on, guys, keep it moving,” she said, herding them ahead of her like cats. “Put your stuff down and have a seat for a minute.”

From his desk, chin resting on his knuckles, Solas watched her corral the children to the tables. They seemed to like her, responding quickly to her demands, settling into their seats and quieting with limited protest.

“Okay, kids, today we're starting work on your term papers,” she started, and began to count off criteria on her fingers. “Pick any age between Divine and Exalted, pick a topic within that age, and then give me eight to ten pages at the end of the semester. Before you start writing, I need to approve your topic. I need you to cite at least three sources _in addition_ to your textbook. More is probably better, but that's up to you.” Here she shot a wink to the librarian, who cocked an eyebrow. “At least two of your sources need to be actual books, and not just whatever you can Google up in fifteen minutes at home.”

That solicited a chorus of groans, to which Anais only shrugged. “You guys have a nicer library here than half of the ones I used in college. It should not be difficult to find two relevant books in this entire building. Any questions?”

There were a few, to which she gave quick, concise answers. When it seemed there were no more queries, she shooed them away. “Go on, scatter. Get to work, I want your topics by Monday.”

At their teacher's urging the students abandoned their backpacks and spread across the library, vanishing between shelves and up the stairs. Anais watched them go, then approached the librarian's huge circular desk at the center of the room.

“May I sit? Better vantage point,” she asked, waving a hand at the room behind her.

“Certainly,” Solas replied, motioning her around the the side to the opening in the desk. There was already a second chair, which Anais settled into.

“I'm glad to hear you appreciate my library,” he said as she sat.

Anais flashed him a smile. “Well it is just lovely,” she said, reaching into her bag and drawing out a thick stack of papers, paperclipped into smaller bunches. “I wasn't kidding when I said this place is nicer than several universities I could name. Three entire floors! Consider me impressed.”

“Well, much as I would like to, I do not think I can take all of the credit,” Solas admitted, though part of him swelled with pride at her praises. “Most of it was here when I took the position.”

“Well Vivienne tells me you're some sort of book-procuring magician,” she replied. She dug through her purse for a moment, eventually producing a green pen. “So I'm sure plenty of it _is_ your doing.”

“Either way,” he said, only half suppressing his smile, “It pleases me to see it put to good use.”

Two weeks had passed since their last conversation, at the faculty meeting. It had been pleasant, meeting another who seemed to have an appreciation for ancient history-- with a rather Dalish bent on her perspective, to be sure, but all the same. Since then he had seen her only in passing in the hallway and across the parking lot, a smile and a wave.

He watched her for a moment, as she pulled the cap off the pen with her teeth and set to grading. Lit by the sun spilling through the skylight above, the red undertones in her hair were vibrant against the deep green of her vallaslin. Her dark shirt was open at the neck, giving a glimpse of warm copper skin...

Hastily he swiveled his chair away, to the purchase order request open on his computer screen and the catalogue of office supplies open on the desk. Solas busied himself with searching the catalogue for labels and printer paper and other mundanities necessary to the smooth running of the library. Any tedium to distract him from staring like a schoolboy.

For the most part the library was quiet but for the occasional scrape of a chair, the shifting of books and the scratching of pens on paper. Periodically students approached the desk, asking after a certain book or requesting Anais' opinion on research topic.

After a time there came a gentle tap on his shoulder, and he turned to find her re-paperclipping a stack of tests.“What time is it?”

Solas glanced back at the lower corner of his computer. “Eleven forty-five.”

“Thank you,” she said, and clicked the cap back onto her pen. She stood, addressing her students scattered around the building. “Ten minutes!” she called. “Check out any books you want to take, and put away whatever you don't, please.”

There was a sudden shuffle of activity, students checking out books and gathering their backpacks to cluster at the door like racehorses at the gate. Anais attempted to keep them orderly, but the closer it came to lunch, the more eager the students became. No sooner did the bell ring than they threw open the doors and flooded out, gone in less than thirty seconds as though they had never been. She let the door swing shut, expelling a breath as she returned to the desk.

“The lunch bell is a powerful thing,” Anais said, slipping back into her seat. She began neatly separating her graded and ungraded tests into piles. “It's like letting halla too close to the spindleweed patch-- they'll go through the walls if they have to.”

Solas considered the idiom for a moment. “Is that a common problem?” he inquired.

“What, halla and spindleweed?” she replied, placing the tests back into the depths of her bag. That purse, he thought, was probably bottomless. “Not if you're careful. Don't grow it too close to the pens. But it's like catnip to them, they'll roll in it and eat it and then act half crazy for the rest of the afternoon.”

“You seem to speak from experience,” he said.

“As I should,” she replied. “My family keeps the clan's herd, I've spent an inordinate amount of time around them.”

“I thought Clan Lavellan were primarily jewelers,” Solas said, tapping his fingers on his knee thoughtfully.

Anais cocked her head in curiosity. “Primarily, yes... Sorry, lethallin, but you're fluent in the old tongue and you can read the vallaslin, and now this? For being city-born you seem to know quite a bit about the clans.”

“I don't know that I would consider myself 'city-born,'” he replied, expression carefully neutral.

“Are... are you Dalish?” she said, shocked, sitting back in her chair. There was a note of sadness in her voice as she asked softly, “Did you decline your vallaslin?”

“Nor am I Dalish,” he said, and the sudden tension left Anais' face. “Somewhere in between, I suppose. Curious, though,” he started, before she could pry further, “That your clan would still raise halla.”

There was a brief, almost imperceptible narrowing of her eyes at the quick subject change, but she did not press the issue. “Why curious? Most clans tend halla, if they have the land. Just because we don't all live in aravels anymore doesn't mean they have no use. They're sacred to us.”

“Such a juxtaposition of the modern and the archaic--”

“ _Archaic_?” she interjected, lifting her hand as though to physically stop Solas' words in the air. The set of her jaw and the high arch of her eyebrows were a warning.

“Only in that the act of raising an animal merely because tradition dictates is--”

“Is _what_ , exactly?” she demanded. “'Archaic'? Solas, it is the year of our Maker 20:15 Renewal and yet, as it has been for two thousand years, we name each century after the visions of the old woman with the largest Dorito-shaped hat. Ferelden hasn't been in a landwar on its own soil in close to a hundred and ninety years, but something like seventy-six percent of Fereldan households own a mabari _war_ dog. There are corners of Tevinter that still hold annual _blood sacrifices_ to Dumat! _These_ are 'cultural quirks' or 'just how it is,' but the Dalish choose to raise halla-- for meat, for milk and cheese and horn and pelt, to ride and till our fields-- and suddenly we're _antiquated_. Backwards.”

“I'm sorry, lethallan. _Abelas_ ,” he managed, through the wall of her words. “You've made a fair point.”

At some point she had risen out of her chair to loom over him. He could only stare, temporarily lost for words under the fierceness of her stare and the clench of her jaw. Eventually she exhaled once, sharply, through her nose and averted her eyes. Her cheeks colored.

“Sorry,” she sighed, fiddling with one of the rings on her fingers. The apology seemed more compulsory than sincere.

“The fault is mine, truly,” he replied.

Anais met his gaze again, expression inscrutable. “Yeah,” she said simply. “Look, I just... I spent half my college career arguing about being Dalish and explaining to dusty old professors that we're a living culture and not a set of ruins. I just jump straight to defensive over it.”

“Understandable,” he said. “It must have been tiring.”

She scoffed, and finally lowered herself back into her chair. “'Tiring' is a generous word for it,” she said. “Infuriating, more like. You're an elf in academia, you must have some idea.”

“A little,” he agreed. He was glad to see half a smile pull at the corner of her mouth. “If I may ask, where did you go to school?”

“I got my bachelor's in history at Wycome College in the Marches. Did my masters in anthropology at the Universite d'Orlais in Val Royeux,” she said.

“You accused the Chantry of stealing Elvhen iconography while living in the very heart of Andrastianism?” Solas asked, incredulous.

“What can I say? I don't do things by halves,” she said, shrugging. There was no small amount of pride in her voice, though.

“I would like to have been in the room during that particular committee hearing,” he said. If Anais got so heated over halla, he could only imagine what she looked like defending her thesis to Orlesian professors. There was an incredible amount of passion contained in her slender frame, something he could admire.

“It was absolutely terrifying. And I _loved_ it,” she replied, grinning. “Living in Orlais was trying, to say the least, but Dread Wolf take me if that two years wasn't entirely worth it just to see their faces when they couldn't totally discredit me.”

“Well, at least Orlais has arguably the best desserts on this side of the world,” Solas offered.

Anais laughed, nodding her agreement. “There is also that. You have a sweet tooth, then, librarian?”

“My one weakness,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Tiny cakes.”

“I'll have to file that away for later use,” she said, with a sly smile. “Just in case... oh _shit_!” She leapt to her feet, sweeping up her purse and various belongings.

“Is everything all right?” he asked, as she hurried around the desk.

“I was supposed to meet Cullen for lunch to discuss the possibility of a field trip up to Old Haven and the ruined temple,” she said, turning to face him but continuing, backwards, towards the exit. “Thank you, again, for letting my class in on such short notice!”

He hardly had time for a 'you're welcome' or any proper farewell before she vanished through the doors. Solas shook his head, turning back to his computer, though he smiled as he set back to work.

It was hardly a few minutes before he forced his face back into impassivity, chastising himself for falling into such a familiar pattern. Another Dalish girl, fierce and brilliant, so like the last.

A thousand years, and still the Dread Wolf made the same mistakes.

 


End file.
